No Church in the Wild
by PunkRocky
Summary: Arthur Kirkland is an upper class business owner from New Bedford, MA who is heading west to find a murderous convict, when he runs into a cowboy by the name of Alfred F. Jones, who offers to help him find the killer. This is their story. T but, M later.
1. Chapter 1

___"You can find meanness in the least of creatures, but when God made man the devil was at his elbow. A creature that can do anything. Make a machine. And a machine to make the machine. And evil that can run itself a thousand years, no need to tend to it__."_

Excerpt from _Blood __Meridian _by Cormac McCarthy

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><p>Chapter 1<p>

Arthur Kirkland looked around the small dining room - the atmosphere was just perfect. The room was filled with a slight smoky aroma from the corner fireplace. The room was dimly lit by the fire and the candle neatly arranged on the table. The table looked beautiful with the fine china and arrangements of roses and babies breathe in the center. Normally, the table would be adorned with modest silverware and tableware, but tonight was special - it was his mother, Abigail's birthday. Arthur had the family cook prepare a special dinner for the occasion. He wanted to give his mother the best birthday ever, for it was the first one she would spend without her husband. Arthur's father passed away about six months ago after a horrible battle with tuberculosis. They had the best doctors in New England try and save him, but none of them were able to save him. After his father's passing, Arthur had to step up and take on his father's responsibilities. He worked tirelessly for the past several months to fill his father's shoes and take care of his mother, but today he just wanted to enjoy the evening and celebrate.

Arthur took a sip from his wine glass and glanced over at his mother. Her sandy blond hair was pinned up in a bun, while she was wearing a lovely dark green evening dress with white lace frill around the neck and sleeve cuffs. She was quite pretty, even in her older years. She was also the sweetest lady Arthur had ever known. Arthur placed his wine glass on the table and gave her a warm smile.

"How are you enjoying the meal mother?"

Abigail paused between bites of her meal.

"It's wonderful, dear. You didn't have to do all this for me."

"Nonsense mother, I hardly feel that I have done enough."

Abigail smiled. Arthur has always treated her way too kindly. Ever since he was little, she knew that Arthur would always be her precious, little boy. As he grew up, he would give her gifts and demand her attention. When he was small, he would spend hours sitting and chatting with his mother when he could have spent time playing with his brothers or other boys his age, but Arthur never seemed to mind spending time with his mother.

"How is everything at the factory, son?" Abigail asked.

After his father's passing, Arthur took control of his father's textile factory. He always knew that he would take over since the rest of his brothers went off to Boston and New York City as they grew older. Arthur was different; he stayed in New Bedford and worked at the textile factory for his father.

"Everything is fine mother, just the normal frustrations: machinery breaking down, rushing to get orders ready for shipping. Nothing new."

"I know it was hard to get use to at first Arthur, dear, but you've come along way and the factory is doing better than ever."

"Yes, I guess you can say that. It has been a long road, but you really can give the credit to the continuous growth of this country and the recent expansion of the railroad system. Now that the railroads are moving west, we are shipping out further than ever before."

"Still, you are doing great Arthur, and I'm really proud of you."

"Stop it mother, it's not that impressive."

"It's still a shame that you haven't found a bride to marry. It's hard to believe that a handsome, affluent young man like yourself hasn't found a nice young lady to court."

"Mother-"

"You know, your father's old friend David Smith, the one who owns the whaling ship, has a young daughter named Meredith, who is very pretty and-"

"Mother, that's enough. I will eventually find myself a wonderful bride. Don't worry. For now though, let's just enjoy the evening with this wonderful dinner, and the chef is preparing a delightful dessert."

"Okay dear, I just want the best for you, that's all."

"I know mother, I know."

Arthur loved his mother, but it became a tad frustrating when she voiced her desire to be a grandmother. He just never felt anything for the girls he met, they just-well, they just didn't interest him at all. He was hoping eventually _the__ one_ would walk through the door, but until then, he would be content being a bachelor. He was in no rush to be a husband.

Arthur decided when the conversation shifted to happier and less sensitive topics, it was time to pull out the small, velvet box he had been hiding under the table all dinner.

"Mother, it took me some time to figure out what would be a proper gift to give you, but I decided that this would suffice."

Arthur placed the box on the table in front of his mother.

His mother gasped at the sight of the small, velvet box. There is only one thing that can be in a box like that.

She picked up the velvet box and carefully opened the lid. Inside was a small, beautiful ring with a red ruby and diamonds encrusted around the gemstone. The band was gold with a message inscribed on the inside that read, _To__ my__ beloved __mother_. Abigail stared in shock, it was so beautiful and _luxurious_. Without realizing it, tears started to stream down her face.

Arthur was surprised by the sudden tears and started to comfort his mother.

"Now, now mother, it's alright. I wanted to give you something really nice. You don't have to cry."

"Arthur, this is too much. You shouldn't have gotten this for me. I would have been content with a new tea set or—"

"Mother, I wanted to get you something special for once. In past birthdays, I have gotten you tea sets, shoes, and other assorted trinkets, but I have never given you something that really shows how much I care. After dad's passing, I felt that I needed to show you how much I appreciate you and what you have done for me as my mother. You have raised me into a fine young man and I couldn't ask for anything else. What you have done for me is worth more than this ring ever could."

With that sentiment, Abigail couldn't hold back the tears any longer. She got up from her seat and gave her son the biggest hug she could muster. Arthur chuckled and hugged his mother back. She really was the nicest woman he had ever met, and probably ever will.

* * *

><p>Arthur looked over the papers in front of him one more time. The budgets were taking way too long, but he had to make sure that everything was perfect. One of the reasons he was so successful was because of the way he managed the budgets for the factory. There was no room to splurge on expenses, and the less money spent was more money earned. After the final glance over, Arthur placed his quill back on his desk. He took out his pocket watch. It was 9:00 PM. He had spent way too much time on paperwork today. He needed to leave and soon. He picked up his coat and hat, and then exited his office.<p>

Once out on the street, Arthur started walking towards his home, which was not too far down the road. As he was walking, he noticed how nice the weather was this evening. The air was cool and felt nice against his skin. The sky was clear, giving him a beautiful view of the celestial sky. The stars were twinkling, making it a rather pleasant walk home. The passing of his father wasn't easy on him, but things were finally looking up for Arthur Kirkland. His business was growing and his mother was happy. What more could he ask for?

As he was walking up to his building, he noticed a carriage pulled up front.

_Strange,__ it__'__s __rather __late __to__ be __having __visitors_.

When he walked up to the door, he noticed the Sheriff sitting on his front steps.

This was strange. He wondered why his mother didn't already have the visitor in the front sitting room with a cup of tea. Maybe she was asleep? No, the servant would have woken her and told her of the visitor. The only reason he could deduce was that this was serious whatever this was.

"Good evening, Sheriff. How can I help you?" Arthur inquired.

"Mr. Kirkland, we might want to talk inside."

Arthur swallowed; this didn't sound too encouraging.

"Alright, let me get the door."

Arthur walked up the steps and unlocked the door, leading the officer inside the house.

"Yes officer, what seems to be your business here?"

"Son, you might want to sit down."

Arthur was nervous, for whatever he had to say, it was not going to be good.

When Arthur took his seat in the armchair in the corner of the room, the sheriff began to explain.

"Mr. Kirkland, tonight your mother, Abigail, was called apon by a friend of hers, a Mrs. Elizabeth King, who had recently fallen ill. She went over to her house to check up on her and see how she was dealing with her illness. After checking up on Mrs. King and spending some time chatting with her, she departed. While walking back to your residents, she was attacked and mugged. The suspect stabbed her in the chest, then stole her valuables and the contents of the purse she was carrying. Witnesses heard screaming and left the local bar nearby to find your mother lying in the street. By the time a doctor was located, your mother was already deceased. I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland."

Arthur's eyes grew wide.

_What?_

"So, where is my mother? Is she alright?"

The Sheriff sighed; this was going to be harder than he thought.

"Your mother is dead, son. She was murdered. I'm terribly sorry."

"I, I-"

Arthur was speechless_. _His brain seemed to be unable to string words together in coherent thought.

After a moment of processing the news, Arthur was finally able to speak.

"Where is her body?"

"She's at the morgue; the mortician is taking care of her body as we speak."

"Thank you, Sheriff."

Arthur didn't need to hear another word. He jumped out of his chair, pushed passed the Sheriff, and sprinted down the road to the morgue. It was a long haul to the morgue, but he didn't care. About 10 minutes later, he reached the morgue and pounded on the door.

"Please, please, open up! Please!" Arthur screamed.

After a few minutes, a wrinkled, old man with a long, white beard opened the door.

"I'm sorry sir, how may I help you?" he asked.

"My mother! Where is my mother!" he yelled.

The old man looked at the distraught man. His shirt and coat were eschewed, he body covered in sweat and his face was ghost-white. The old man was pretty sure he knew who this young man was.

"You must be Mr. Kirkland, come right in."

Arthur quickly entered the building and stood there, waiting for the mortician to direct him to his mother. The old man led him to the back of the building, over to a table with a small, petite body covered in a white sheet. The old man pulled back the sheet, to reveal the face of his beloved mother, Abigail. Arthur became weak and fell to his knees at the sight before him. He took hold of his mother's hand and began to sob. This was too surreal, this was too horrifying to believe, but it was _his_ mother lying there lifeless in front of him. He couldn't control himself anymore. He cried and sobbed, releasing the pain welled up in his chest. The old man was beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable at the strong display of emotions and decided to slip back into the front room to give the young man some privacy.

Arthur continued to grieve. He took his mother's hand and placed it too his cheek. It was ice cold against his burning cheek.

_This can't be happening._

_Mother, mum._

_Please, Don't leave me._

_Mum._

….

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><p>Arthur was pissed. This was ridiculous, and these people needed to give him answers or so help him god. Arthur was currently sitting in the police station waiting for someone to give him answers to what happened to his mother. The day after her parting, he had laid her to rest in the local cemetery. He had never been so miserable in his life, but now he has never been so <em>livid<em>. He had yelled at the deputy for nearly an hour, demanding to speak to the Sheriff. The deputy played dumb and proclaimed he didn't know where the Sheriff was. Just when Arthur thought he couldn't take anymore of this nonsense, the Sheriff walked through the door of the station.

"Sheriff, who killed my mother?"

Arthur was quick and to the point. He was here for answers and he demanded them now.

"Mr. Kirkland, come sit here in front of my desk."

Arthur quickly made his way over to the chair in front of the desk. The Sheriff strolled behind him and sat in his leather chair behind it.

"Mr. Kirkland, I'll cut to the chase. Your mother was killed by a man named John "Bulldog" Bass. He is a convict who has been known to have killed 20 men, including two officers, and now your mother. He is also wanted for burglary, bank robbery, and fraud. He is a very wanted man, Mr. Kirkland."

"How do you know he is the suspect?"

"Witnesses, Mr. Kirkland. They had spotted John Bass on his way out of town. He was running on horseback and was said to be covered in blood. These witnesses had also seen Bass at the bar near the scene of the crime. We are pretty sure it was he who killed your mother."

"Does anyone know where he is going?"

"Some of the witnesses we spoke with say he is heading out West to Austin, Texas on business, or that is what he said in his drunken stupor. They say he had some "big money" waiting out there for him."

"Surely you have someone going after this man."

"Mr. Kirkland, we have sent word out to the authorities in Austin, Texas. They will take care of the case from now on. By the word of it, John Bass is already wanted out there."

"You don't have _anyone_ going after this man?"

Arthur felt his skin crawl and his blood start to boil.

"Mr. Kirkland, I assure you that the proper people have been contacted."

"This man killed my mother! He needs to be pursued!"

"Mr. Kirkland, he will be found eventually, but you have to be patient."

Arthur knew how long "eventually" would take. Months, years, or hell, maybe _never_. It all depended on how active the search for the criminal was, and it seemed that the local law enforcement was in no hurry in catching him.

"Is that all you have to say?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Kirkland, there is nothing more I can do."

Arthur was fuming. He couldn't take anymore of this.

"Thank you Sheriff, I'll be taking my leave now."

As Arthur got up from his chair, he kicked it halfway across the station.

The Sheriff and the deputy sat there taken aback at the sudden display of emotion. Arthur picked up his bag and left the station.

_If __they__ are __not __going __to __do __anything __about __it, __then, __I __will._

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><p>Arthur stood in front of his mother's grave in silence. He had come to say good bye before he left town. He was heading southwest to Austin, Texas. He kneeled on one knee and placed a single red rose by her headstone.<p>

Arthur took a deep breath and sighed.

"Mother, I'm making you this promise. I'm going to go west, I'm going to find John Bass, and I'm going to make him pay. The authorities around here are lazy and incompetent, so I'm going to find the man that took you away from me. I swear to god and all that is holy, I will bring that man to justice, even if it's the last thing I do."

(To be Continued)

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><p>If you are reading this, thank you!<p>

Reviews are appreciated and if you see any spelling or formatting mistakes, please point them out. This is my first chapter fic and my first fic posted on ff so I'm pretty stoked. I hope you all enjoy this fic and the adventures to come. I'm planning on introducing Cowboy!Alfred in the next chapter and from his point of view. He is my muse for this fic so I'm really excited.

Thanks~

- PunkRocky


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I got nothin."

"Dammit. Fold."

"Three pair, I win."

The two men sighed as the young man won his third round in a row. The older men were losing their earnings quickly to the loud, rambunctious young man.

"Ha! You guys might wanna quit while yer ahead. Don't wanna go home to your wives with empty pocket, now, do we?" The young man had a wide grin plastered across his face underneath the wide brim hat.

"Shut up boy, just cause you've gotten lucky the last few rounds doesn't mean you can start talkin shit."

"Actually. It does. I'll make it up to ya though. I'll buy the next round of drinks."

"I can deal with that" said the other older men.

The young man stood up and yelled across the table to the bartender, "Hey barkeep! Me n' my friends need another round over here!"

The bartender looked up from his task of wiping down the glasses and gave the young man a steady glare.

"Stop yer hollerin', I'll get yer drinks, son."

The young man laughed.

"Thanks Bill."

The bartender gave a grunt in reply and started preparing their beers.

The young man sat back down and leaned back in his chair, propping his boots on the table. He pulled the brim of his hat down over his brow.

One of the older men glanced over at the young man.

"How did the cattle drive turn out, son?"

"It went pretty smoothly. Didn't seem to have any problems going down Chrisholm Trail. We got a pretty penny for the cattle. Me n' pops were laughin about how easy it turned out. Expected somethin to go wrong any minute."

"Speaking of which, how's your old man doin?" the other man asked.

"He's doin good, especially for his age. He don't seem to wanna quit ranchin anytime soon. He's set on workin hard 'til the day he's buried in the family plot."

"Sounds like yer pops. One tough son of a bitch."

The young man laughed, "Yessir. He his."

The bartender came over and placed the beers on the table.

The young man smiled.

"Thanks Bill."

"Get yer boots off my table."

The young man chuckled, "Chill Bill. Stop being so uptight, why don't cha? Ha! Chill Bill! That rhymes!"

Bill rolled his eyes, "Wow, yer pretty smart. Good to see yer momma put somethin into that thick skull of yers."

"Har Har Bill."

The two older men couldn't help but laugh at the bartenders quip.

"Shut it you two, before you find a boot up yer ass," the young man retorted.

The young man was pulling out a cigarette from his pocket when he heard shuffling and shouting from the other side of the bar.

The young man placed the cigarette between his lips and pulled out a small matchbox from his pocket.

He looked over at the other side of the bar to see a tall, fat, balled man clutching a shorter blonde man by the collar against the wall, hold a knife to his throat.

The young man struck a match and lit his cigarette.

_Here __we__ go_.

The young man casually made his way to the other side of the bar, stopping near the side of the bald man.

"What seems to be the problem here, sir?" the young man asked, taking a draw of his cigarette.

"Why don't you mind yer own business."

"It just want to know why yer holding a knife against this man's throat, is all."

"If ya must know, he's stickin his nose into other people's business. Won't stop blabberin about needin information he don't need to know."

"Put him down, he looks pretty harmless."

"He needs to learn his lesson about keeping his nose out of other's peoples business."

The bald man drew the knife closer to the blonde man's throat, grazing the blade against the tender skin of his throat.

_Cl-click._

The bald man turned his head to find a Colt .45 Peacemaker two inches from the bridge of his nose.

The young man stared into the bald man's eyes.

"Put him down. I'm not afraid to spatter the walls with your brains."

The bald man was left with no choice being unarmed and unprepared. He slowly withdrew his knife and placed the man back on the ground.

The blonde man slid into the fetal position against the wall. He gasped, clutching his hands around his throat. There was blood dripping down the collar of his shirt

The young man kept the revolver pointed at the bald man.

"Are you alright there?" asked the young man.

The blonde man coughed, "Yes, I'm fine. Just a scratch, just need some bandages."

"Good," said the young man, "means baldy hear gets to live another day."

He kept the gun pointed at the bald man as he waved his hand with the cigarette at the man to follow him.

"Come with me. We need to get you cleaned up."

The blonde man didn't hesitate. He scuffled to his feet and made his way to the door, stumbling against the tables and chairs throughout the bar.

The young man laughed. "See ya fellas later."

The young man kept his glare on the bald man. He nodded over to the bartender.

"Sorry Bill, I'll pay my tab later."

Bill didn't seem to be phased by the situation before him. He just continued cleaning the countertops.

"It's fine, son. Go on along."

The young man smiled at the bartender and nodded at his companions.

"Be good while I'm gone boys."

With that, the young man left the bar.

One he stepped outside, he took one last draw from his cigarette before dropping it to the ground and stomping it out with his boot.

He looked over at the blonde man, bent over with one hand on his knee and the other on at the wound on his neck.

"Are ya sure your okay there?"

"Yea, I'm fine. Let's just go so we can stop the bleeding."

"Where's your horse?" asked the young man.

The blonde looked over his shoulder at the stall. His eyes grew wide with disbelief.

"Fuck!" the blonde man yelled.

The young man smiled, he knew that look anywhere.

"Someone stole yer horse, didn't they?"

The blonde man hesitated.

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Happens a lot around here buddy. By the look of the fancy coat and the accent, yer far from home, city boy. This isn't the city bud, this is the West. What's your name?"

The young man looked as if he was going to protest but he bit his tongue; the young man _did_save his life.

"Arthur Kirkland, what is yours, young man?"

Without a word, the young man made his way toward Arthur, pulling out a red handkerchief from his back pocket. He folded it into a band and tied it around the wound, trying to suppress the bleeding.

He tapped lightly on Arthur's nose with his index finger.

A smile stretched across the young man's face, "My name is Alfred. Alfred F. Jones, I would remember it if I were you."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the rowdy young man. Alfred found the shade of red Arthur's face was turning amusing.

"I guess I shall, you saving my life and all."

Alfred chuckled, "I reckon so."

Alfred waved Arthur toward a chestnut brown mustang.

"You need help getting up here. You're kinda short n' all…"

"If you didn't just save my life, I'd pop you in the mouth."

Alfred laughed, this man was funny, kinda…_interesting_ to say the least.

Arthur made his way up on the back of the horse, sort of struggling.

Alfred tried not to laugh, but a snicker slipped through his lips anyway.

"Shut up, you git."

Arthur was turning slightly red again, making Alfred snicker even louder.

Alfred hitched up onto the horse and grabbed the reins.

Alfred glanced over his shoulder at Arthur.

"You might want to hold on."

"What are you?-aaahhhh!"

Before Arthur could finish his statement, they were flying South, down the road into the distant plains.

* * *

><p>It was reaching close to dusk as their horse galloped down the winding trail. The sky was painted with different shades of purples, reds, and oranges as they made their way into the horizon.<p>

Arthur clinged to Alfred for dear life as they raced across the prairie. He wouldn't let up his death grip around the Alfred's waist and his forehead buried in between his shoulder blades. Arthur was too afraid of falling off the horse to let go.

Alfred started to slow down as he spotted the ranch in the distance.

"We're almost there, buddy."

"My name is Arthur, not buddy."

Alfred chuckled, "Sure, whatever ya say."

"Why did we have to gallop the whole way here anyway?" Arthur asked, "I'm not bleeding to death, you know."

Alfred looked over his shoulder and shrugged.

"I don't know…cause I wanted too."

Arthur stared blankly at the young man.

"Really? We raced all the way here because you _felt _like it?"

Alfred grinned, "Yep. Exactly."

Arthur just signed. There were no proper words to describe this man.

"I'm guessing that you're one of those cowboys I keep hearing about back east."

Alfred laughed, "What gave ya that idea?"

"The cowboy hat, the bandana, the chaps and the revolver to name a few things, not to mention the whole toting a revolver around in public."

"Hey, my revolver saved yer life!"

"Yes, it did and I'm grateful for that, but I'm not use to people being armed and dangerous at all times."

"That's cause yer a fancy city boy from the East Coast. You didn't have to worry about someone robbin ya or threatenin ya at any point in the day. The west is a bit more…_lawless_ than where you come from."

"I can see that," Arthur exhaled.

"Are ya sure it was a good idea for you to come out here?"

"I have business to attend to, so yes, I'm sure."

"Whatever, just try not to get killed again, buddy."

Arthur only huffed.

They were getting closer now; they could see a house nestled in the hill surrounded by fencing on each side. The wood was faded on the outside from year of wear and tear, but it was still a quaint little house. It seemed inviting and cozy. Out front, there was a porch with a few rocking chairs.

Alfred halted the horse next to the front porch, hopping down and offering his hand to help Arthur get down from the horse.

Arthur was going to refuse, but decided to accept his offer in an attempt to save himself from the embarrassment if he failed to get down properly by himself. He grabbed the cowboy's hand and hauled himself down from the horse. Hitting the ground, he found himself caught off balance. He was about to fall flat on his face when he felt two strong hands caught hold of his sides.

"You okay there Artie?"

"I'm fine, wait-my name is not Artie, it's Arthur!"

"Okay, whatever ya say, Arthur. Go inside and make yourself at home. I'll be there in a minute. I got to put away the horse."

"O-okay."

Arthur walked up the steps, onto the porch and paused, staring at the wooden door. He took a deep breath and walked into the unfamiliar territory. Once he entered the house, he was greeted to the sight of a small living room with a few chairs encircling a small table. There was a fireplace in the corner with a mantle displaying different trinkets. Arthur took a seat in a cushioned chair in the corner and closed his eyes. It had been a long day, and he was exhausted. The near-death experience had worn him out. He looked around the room. It was modest but quaint. Arthur started drifting off into a light snooze when he heard the thumping of footsteps walk up the stairs, onto the front porch.

Alfred stepped into the living room with a grin plastered across his face.

_Damn, does he ever not smile? Well, excluding the times when he has a gun in someone's face._

"You look comfy there, dontcha?" he teased.

"Shut it, git."

"Tell me, where exactly are ya from? I've met some Yankees before but you don't sound like any of them fellas."

"I'm actually British. I'm from London. I moved to the States when I was ten. "

"That explains a lot. You're a fish outta water everywhere. Aren't ya?"

"Actually, it isn't that bad. I live in New Bedford and it's easy to mistake it for England at times. Everyone in our community _is_British."

"Hm, well I'll be damned."

Alfred's smile quickly grew into a look of concern.

"Hold on a second Artie, I got to get some supplies from the cupboard, your neck is bleeding again."

Arthur looked at him quizzically and glanced down to see a dribble of blood run down his collar. He placed his hand on the bandana to stop the wound from bleeding any further.

"Be right back."

Alfred ran out of the room and into the back of the house. Arthur stayed there holding his neck while Alfred went in search of medical supplies. Alfred reappeared a few minutes later with some white bandages, a cloth, and a bowl of hot water.

Alfred pulled a chair up toward Arthur's and started carefully removing the bandana from around Arthur's neck. He held the bandana against the wound while he wetted the clean cloth.

He removed the bandana and started wiping the wound, trying to clean off all the dried blood that was encrusted around the wound.

"F-fuck!" Arthur yelped.

"Sorry, I'll try to be gentler."

Alfred giggled and continued the task at hand. He dipped the rag back into the bowl and rung it out, and then continued wiping the wound.

"You should be good, just need some bandages."

Alfred started wrapping the bandages around Arthur's neck.

"It wasn't that bad, but it refused to close and stop bleeding. If it was any worse, we might've been takin you to a doctor to get sewn up."

"Good, I really don't need to see a doctor my first night in town."

"Haha! It's your first night in town? You almost died and you've been here less than a day!" Alfred started busting into laughter.

"Shut up! I only got into the situation because that barbaric man did not want to tell me where is friend was! I know he knows too because I overheard him blabbering about talking to him with his goons! I need to know where he is!"

"Who are you looking for in these parts?"

Arthur paused, "John "Bulldog" Bass."

Alfred paused.

"Bulldog Bass? Why you lookin for him? Why do ya have business with Bulldog?"

"You know him?

"I don't know him personally. I've just read about him in the papers. He's wanted by the Texas Rangers and the U.S. Marshalls"

"As so I've heard. Word had it, he was headed here to Austin. I was hoping to catch up with him out here somewhere."

"What business do ya have with that fella? You're not into any trouble are ya?"

"Heavens no, I desire to take him down."

"Are you a bounty hunter?"

"No. I just want to see him pay for what he has done."

Arthur could feel his muscle's tense at the thought of that man and what he did to his mother.

"If you're not in it for the money, then why did ya travel all the way here to Texas? Did he do somethin to ya?"

Arthur cut his gaze away from Alfred and stared at his lap.

"He took something away from me…He killed my mother."

Alfred froze and looked serenely at the blonde man in front of him. He sighed before finishing his task, securing the bandages.

"All done. You're gonna live, buddy."

"Thanks."

There was an awkward silence hanging in the air. Without saying a word, Alfred got up from the chair and walked outside. Arthur was left there seated in the living room surrounded by the cleaning supplies. He was a little confused as of why the young cowboy left so abruptly without a word. Arthur took a deep breath and left his seat to find the cowboy. He didn't have to go far for Alfred was outside sitting on the porch steps, smoking a cigarette. Alfred turned his head at the sound of footstep coming from behind him. He looked at Arthur, and then turned his attention back to the view of the plains in front of him.

Alfred took the cigarette from his lips and placed it between his fingers.

"You know that you have no chance catching this man, right?"

Arthur's furrowed his brow.

"What the hell make you say that!" he snapped.

"You have no gun, no horse, and no knowledge of this land. You won't make it one day out here."

Arthur was about to argue, but he didn't really had no way of defending himself. The cowboy had a point, but he wasn't going to admit it. He really wasn't as weak as he kept making him out to be, he could take care of himself, but he was at a disadvantage. Arthur couldn't deny that.

"I-I, I can do it."

"You're gonna need some help out there."

"Where do you suggest I find help in tracking this man?"

"I'll help ya."

Arthur raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"You will? What's your angle? What do you want from me?"

Alfred took a drag from his cigarette.

"I don't want nothin. Well, maybe a share of the reward, but that's about it."

Arthur wasn't convinced.

"This seems a little bit too easy. How am I supposed to know that you're not going to screw me over?"

Alfred looked up into the Brit's eyes.

"You can't. You just gotta trust me."

Arthur looked at the cowboy in front of him. How could he trust this man he just met? Granted, he did already save his life. Speaking of which…

"Why did you save me there at the bar?"

"I couldn't let an innocent man die, could I? I might be a cowboy at heart but I still believe in standing up for what's right."

"That's very noble of you."

"Na, that's just me being a decent person."

Arthur smiled. Maybe there was something more to this rowdy cowboy after all.

"Okay then. Let's work together."

"We'll work out the details tomorrow. I gotta get supplies together tonight. You should probably get some rest. You can stay here if you'd like."

"Err, will that won't be necessary. I'm staying at the inn in town. I'll be fine."

"It might be better for you to stay here though. I can't trust ya out there by yourself. Bulldog's boys are still out there in town."

"Well, my stuff is at the inn."

"I'll get yer stuff Artie, you just stay here and rest."

"It's Arthur, not Artie, git."

Alfred just chuckled in response.

Arthur looked at the cowboy and sighed. He still didn't quite understand Alfred, but he couldn't complain. The young man was sticking his neck out for him, which made him feel a little uneasy.

"Why are you helping me so much?"

Alfred turned his head and smiled with the cigarette sticking out between his lips. He took hold of the cigarette and exhaled a puff of smoke.

"Because you're pathetically hopeless without my help."

Arthur felt a pang of annoyance creep over him.

"I'm not pathetic! I told you! I can take care of myself!"

Alfred flicked his cigarette into the dirt and stomped it out in the dirt. He looked over at Arthur and chuckled.

"I highly doubt that Artie, not out here."

Well, this might be harder than Arthur thought. This cowboy was getting under his skin with the deprecating comments and it wasn't even day one!

* * *

><p>Sorry I was going to update sooner, but the Hetaween event was waaayyy to engrossing. Also, Biology. It sucks. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I hope it doesn't suck. I got plans to start introducing another nation next chapter. It's going to be fuuuuunnn! Also, I'll try harder to update sooner, but I also have to start working on my USUK Secret Santa Prompt which is freakin' adorable and I can't wait to start on it!<p>

Also thank you for MidknightPhantom for pointing out its "reins" not "reigns" *face palm*


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